


Chapter and Verse

by manic_intent



Series: Eminent Domain [3]
Category: John Wick (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, That Arranged Marriage AU where John attempts the Impossible Task
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-18
Updated: 2017-08-18
Packaged: 2018-12-16 22:43:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11838519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manic_intent/pseuds/manic_intent
Summary: “I’ve been meaning to ask,” Jimmy said, as they loaded up the game. “Uh. You guys are really married?”“You waited a whole year to ask that?” Santino scowled. They were on the couch in the house, Santino cross-legged, Jimmy slouched against the cushions, still in his police uniform. Whenever he swung by, the house was usually his last stop of the night.“Kinda difficult question to just slide in halfway. Especially since your, um, I mean, since John is usually around when I drop by unless he’s… working. And he still doesn’t like me.”“He hasn’t forgiven you for kidnapping me.”





	Chapter and Verse

**Author's Note:**

> This has been a depressing week news wise and I’m in no real mood to write anything for my book, so random fanfic it is.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Jimmy said, as they loaded up the game. “Uh. You guys are really married?” 

“You waited a whole year to ask that?” Santino scowled. They were on the couch in the house, Santino cross-legged, Jimmy slouched against the cushions, still in his police uniform. Whenever he swung by, the house was usually his last stop of the night. 

“Kinda difficult question to just slide in halfway. Especially since your, um, I mean, since John is usually around when I drop by unless he’s… working. And he still doesn’t like me.”

“He hasn’t forgiven you for kidnapping me.” 

“I gathered.” Jimmy pulled a face. “I’ve only said I was sorry a million times. _And_ he would’ve shot me if you hadn’t been there. Which okay, I guess was pretty scary and honestly… he’s _still_ scary as fuck and—”

“Yes, we’re really married,” Santino interrupted, because sometimes conversations with Jimmy would get circular and out of hand otherwise. He pointedly held up his palm, where his ring still sat on his finger. “Priest. Witnesses. Documents.” 

“Overseas?” 

“No? New York.”

“Not exactly legal here right?”

“Neither would it have been legal for John to shoot you dead. But nobody would have found your body. And no one would have gotten into trouble. The principle is the same.”

“Jesus, you’re still a creepy kid,” Jimmy said, resigned. “I was just curious. Guess you have a point. Funny fucking world.”

“Why?”

“Well,” Jimmy nodded at Santino’s hand, “this alternate assassin universe seems kinda more progressive than the real world.” 

“It’s largely a world of collective profit. That’s probably why. The current High Table has no patience for religion. Save where it might be useful.” 

“Thought the mafia was pretty religious.” 

Santino shrugged. “We were. And then we adapted. Above all, ‘the mafia’ has always been good at adapting. Now are you going to play, or are you just going to talk?”

They played a few missions of Gears of War until Santino was yawning and starting to doze off, then Jimmy took his leave and Santino dragged himself to bed. If John was out on a job, he didn’t usually return until the early hours of the morning. Santino curled up under the covers and went to sleep. Routine. 

Waking up _without_ John pressed against him was oddly disorienting. And unusual. Maybe the job had taken longer than it should. Santino washed up, made himself breakfast without damaging the toaster, and resisted the urge to call John. If John was working, a distraction could be fatal. He went to class, returned home to find the house still empty, and ordered in pizza. 

After two days of this and only radio silence from John, even after texts, Santino was puzzled enough to get one of the retainers to send the Tarasovs a polite query. The phone in the house rang within the hour. It was Viggo Tarasov. 

“No need to worry,” he told Santino, his tone brisk. “Perhaps the job went interstate.”

“He’s taken days on a job before?”

“He’s been known to.” 

Santino held on to his patience. Barely. “May I know who the target was?” 

“Respectfully, that’s none of your concern.”

 _Now_ Santino was worried. But he knew better than to push. “Thanks for calling.” 

“Not a problem.” Viggo hung up. 

Santino lay on the couch, took in a slow breath, and called his sister. She picked up after a couple of rings. “I know what you’re going to ask,” Gianna said. “And it’s none of your business.”

Somehow it didn’t surprise him that _Gianna_ knew about it. Santino pinched the bridge of his nose. “What exactly is none of my business?”

Gianna said nothing for a while. Then she sighed, and when she spoke again, her voice was kinder. “Three days ago John made a bargain. With the Tarasovs. He asked them to allow him to walk away from the bratva. He wanted to retire. No strings attached. Viggo called Father, but Father hadn’t heard about it. And you hadn’t talked to me. So I assumed that you didn’t know. And you wouldn’t have asked John to do that. What would be the point?” 

What _was_ the point? “And you _didn’t_ tell me?” Santino sat up sharply. Retire? John had never said anything about retiring.

“John didn’t want you to know. Did something happen?”

Three days ago? Santino frowned at his knees. “Nothing.” The day had passed quietly. It had been a Sunday. Santino had spent it slowly with John, at least after Mass. They’d gone for brunch, caught a movie, and spent the rest of the day in bed, John’s mouth between his legs, pressed gasping against his ear, brushing kisses over his back. Then John had gone to work. “What did Viggo say?”

“Viggo and Abram gave John a task. If he could complete it, he would be free.” 

“And what was the task?” Santino grit his teeth. His sister was being evasive on purpose.

“Does it matter? He obviously failed. Let it be, brother.” 

“What happens to the alliance if John is dead?”

“The alliance was never the point.” 

True. The whole point of choosing John was to take him off the playing field—at least where Santino’s family was concerned. If he was dead, then the effect was the same. Santino closed his eyes, breathing in. A year ago, when he had thought John dead, he had been surprised by his grief. John had been a means to an end and pleasant as the arrangement had turned out to be, Santino had never lost sight of that. Afterwards, when John had turned out to be alive after all, things had just gone back to the way they were. Or so Santino had thought. 

“Santino?” Gianna asked, gentle again.

“Just thinking.”

“You’re not going to go after John, are you?”

“No. Of course not.” Whatever might have detained John would be more than Santino himself could handle. 

“Good.” Gianna hung up. Santino lay back down on the couch, curling onto his flank. Then he called Jimmy.

#

Jimmy had a friend of a friend who could somehow triangulate smart phones using cellphone towers, something that Santino hadn’t realised was possible. They waited in the house for the results while Jimmy wandered around the shelves, peering curiously at picture frames.

“Don’t you ever think it’s weird?”

“What?” Santino was in a testy mood.

“All these photos in their frames and the… stuff next to them. Assume John was the one who took the pics?”

“Old camera. Old film too.” It was somewhere upstairs. John had been weirdly averse to digital cameras, even though he had to pay to get the film developed by someone discreet. “What’s your point?”

“They’re all of you.”

“So?”

“Don’t you think it’s kinda creepy? All these mini shrines to you everywhere but no cute couple pics.” 

Cute? Santino sniffed. “Don’t be ridiculous.” He’d never thought about it. Come to think of it, were there any photos of the both of them together? That kind of sentiment had never occurred to Santino, and John hadn’t ever asked. 

Jimmy wandered over to the couch. “Let me get this straight. John, who’s some kind of super-assassin, decided to retire. Without telling you.” 

“Yes?”

“Sooo… what happens when he retires? Do people even get to quit?”

“Theoretically? If the bratva agree to let him walk away, he can walk away. As a free agent he’d be able to do what he likes.”

“And then what? He can’t have a normal life. Not with you in it.” Jimmy grimaced when Santino flinched. “Sorry. I mean—” 

Santino shook his head. “No. I thought about that.” He’d been doing little but think the situation over. “That time, a year ago. Your partner Rusty did tell him about what happened to his daughter. It… I think it troubled John that it happened.”

“Really? Why would a hitman care?”

“I thought he wouldn’t care either.” 

“So it’s possible,” Jimmy guessed, “that this isn’t a rescue, but John’s actually done whatever he had to do and disappeared, which is why you can’t get any kinda information out of your family or his boss.”

“Maybe.” Probably. That had been Santino’s reluctant conclusion. Why all the secrecy, if John was dead? 

“Which means you’re really going to get me killed this time,” Jimmy said. He only looked resigned. 

“If your friend finds him, you don’t need to be involved any further.”

“Yeah, like I’d leave you to your frigging devices.” At Santino’s blink, Jimmy coughed and looked away, pretending to study a photo frame. “You can’t die before the last Halo game comes out. Who am I going to play that with?”

“It’s going to be shit.” Santino stared at the xbox, then lifted his eyes. There was a Masterchief figurine beside the stupid photo of Santino with the snowball. Like the picture frames, it had just appeared there one day without ceremony, and since Santino had rather liked it, he hadn’t done anything about it. “Okay. Fine. They are a little weird. Happy now?” 

“Upstairs the same?”

Santino glowered at him, his conciliatory mood fading fast. “Maybe. Why?”

“Okay.” Jimmy looked cheered. “It’s a good thing.”

“You just said it was creepy.” 

“Well,” Jimmy pointed out, “if he’s as obsessed with you as your house makes it look, then he most probably didn’t do a runner.” 

“He’s not obsessed with me.” Santino scoffed. As far as he could tell, John wasn’t obsessed with anything. John seemed to go through life on two gear shifts. He was either at what Santino thought of as ‘park’, coasting through at a neutral shift, mostly indifferent to everything, or in ‘drive’, his killing shift. 

“Says you, or the tiny shrines on every corner of furniture in this place?” 

“You’re exaggerating. Don’t be tedious.” Santino chewed on his lower lip, staring at the Masterchief figurine. “Sit down. We’re going to play a mission while we wait.”

They weren’t far into the latest mission when Jimmy’s phone buzzed. He paused the game, getting up to take the call. “Yeah. You’ve got it? Okay. Yeah. Yeah, I get that. Thanks. I owe you one.” He hung up. “Got the address.”

“Let’s go. You drive.”

“You sure about this?” 

Santino frowned at him. “People don’t tend to start shooting at cop cars. At least not in the ‘assassin’ world, as you like to put it. The word about you got around.” 

“No, I mean. I can go. And you stay here. Look,” Jimmy said, when Santino opened his mouth. “How’re you even going to get out of here? I bet you only called me because you had no alternative. Means your family doesn’t approve? How’re you going to get past the security outside?”

“I’ll tell them that we’re going out for gelato.” He’d done that often enough with John that his retainers didn’t even notify his father any longer.

It worked, although Jimmy looked shocked when they pulled out of the security checkpoint and down the road. “That’s a serious security breach.” 

Santino rolled his eyes. “Just drive.” He slouched into the front passenger seat, chewing his lower lip again as he stared out of the window. 

“Anything happen in the past few days? You guys had a fight?”

“No.”

“Nothing out of the ordinary?”

“No.”

“Sure?” 

“We don’t fight,” Santino said, irked by the question. “How’s this relevant?”

“Don’t ever?”

“No.”

“Okay, that’s weird.” At Santino’s frown, Jimmy said, “Every couple has fights now and then. Disagreements. That’s just how it is.” 

Santino shook his head. “Not us.” Whenever they came close to conflict, John just went for a jog or a drive. It was infuriating at first, even though Santino understood. The best way to prevent a quarrel from escalating badly was to remove the most lethal thing from the vicinity, just in case. So John removed himself. 

“Yeah?” Jimmy clearly didn’t believe him. “‘Cos, y’know. I only come over ‘cos you ask me to, and all we do is play xbox games, but you’re really not the easiest of people. No offense.” 

Santino swallowed his temper with some difficulty. “So why are you helping me?”

“You saved my life once and got me dropped on a new kind of gig in the department that isn’t so bad.” Jimmy patted the wheel. “Nobody’s shot at me for months. It’s refreshing. ‘Sides. You’re not so bad. When you’re not trying to be an asshole.”

“I hate you,” Santino muttered. 

“I’m just asking,” Jimmy said, “because of the address.” He rattled it off. “Recognise that?”

“No.”

“Figured. It’s a hospital.” Santino sucked in a tight breath. “Don’t want to assume. But. Just be prepared. Okay?” 

“So that’s why you didn’t insist on security. You’re not expecting trouble.”

“Not at a normal hospital, no. Or so I hope. Look—”

“Just drive,” Santino cut in, and stared back out of the window. He tried to factor this into his conclusions, but his mind kept drawing a dull blank, his thoughts like grey static.

#

Jimmy’s badge got them through to the wards. They found John in a ward to himself, with a police guard posted outside. Jimmy spoke quietly to the guard and Santino was waved through. John was on the bed, hooked up to a drip, his left arm heavily bandaged. Cuts were still healing over his face, scrapes down his right arm. He was asleep, probably sedated, breathing slowly. Santino checked the patient’s chart at the foot of the bed.

“Gunshot wounds,” Santino said, when Jimmy came in. “They had to operate to remove one because it was impacting a nerve. The others they left in. Three fractured ribs. Blood loss.” 

“Yeah.” Jimmy nodded at the door. “Seems he dragged himself into the hospital and collapsed at the front. Judging from his gear and his injuries the hospital suspected gang violence of some kind, so they checked him in as a, hah, John Doe, and notified the local precinct.”

Santino set the chart back into the foot of the bed. “Thanks.” 

“Now what?”

“You can go.”

“Called in your family?”

“No.” 

“Not exactly safe for you here, is it? If whoever did that to John finds him here?” 

“Not safe for you here either.” Santino pulled up a chair by the bed and pointedly sat down. “So go away.”

“You’re not invincible,” Jimmy said. He was about to say more, but John stirred, with a low, hoarse sound, frowning. Hastily, Jimmy let himself out, even as John turned his head. 

“Santino?” His voice was a low whisper. 

“The hell did you think you were doing?” 

John’s frown deepened for a heartbeat, then eased. Unconscious again. Santino sighed, slouching in the chair and setting his feet up on the edge of the bed. His phone rang. It was Gianna. 

“Yeah.” 

“You told me you wouldn’t go after John.”

“We’re in a hospital.” Santino gave her an address and hung up before she could answer. Then he folded his hands over his belly, leaned his head against the back of the chair, and closed his eyes. 

It was impossible to sleep in a hospital. Normally. Nurses came by every few hours to check on John, though by the way they carefully ignored Santino, Santino guessed that Gianna had put in some sort of fix. Sedated, John slept through it. Breakfast was terrible. A retainer came by with a bag of fresh clothes and toiletries. Santino got cleaned up in the ensuite bathroom, changed, and emerged to John blinking in the bed, disoriented. 

“Welcome back to the living.” Santino resettled in the chair, leaning back. John stared up at him, his eyes unfocused. 

“What day is it?” John asked. His voice was weak, the words gasped through. 

“Thursday.”

John closed his eyes. “Fuck.”

“Could say that,” Santino bit out. “Gianna said you wanted to quit. Why?” John didn’t answer, his breathing unsteady. Santino clenched his hands over his lap. “If you didn’t want to be married to me anymore you could’ve just told me to my face.” 

That got John to look at him. “What?”

“Come on,” Santino said, his lip curling. “Why else would you ask the Tarasovs and my own family not to tell me about the deal you made? I could have understood you wanting to walk away from everything. You could have told me. I didn’t think you were a coward.”

John tried to sit up, hissed in pain, and gave up, breathing shallowly for a moment until he caught his breath. “That’s not why I made the deal.” 

“You want to retire? You can’t have a normal life. Not while I’m part of it.” Santino shot back. He was furious. But it was not a fury that burned hot because Santino hadn’t seen this coming. It burned him that he was hurt that it had. He’d become used to life with John. Liked it, even. Hadn’t wanted it to change. “Tell me to my face.”

“I asked Viggo for—”

“I don’t care what you asked him. I don’t care what he asked you to do. And you should’ve known that he would have given you something impossible. If you had talked to me first we could have arranged something.” 

“Santino—”

“Was it about that girl who died from the lab explosion? Why do you care that much? You’ve intentionally killed more people than the years she’d have been alive.” 

“Calm down. Okay? Not what you think.”

“So what is it then?” Santino asked, as mockingly as he could. 

“I love you,” John said, looking up at him evenly as Santino blinked, startled enough to be silenced for a long moment. 

“That’s…” Santino said, when he finally recovered his voice, “unexpected.” 

John nodded wearily, in between pained breaths. “I thought you wouldn’t believe me. If I just told you. It kinda kills me that you know what I do. Because sometimes I think that’s all you see. Just some kinda monster. All this time. When you look at me. ‘The Baba Yaga’.” 

“And you thought retiring would help… how exactly?”

“Thought if I could stop being the Baba Yaga, maybe something would change. Maybe not. Just wanted to try.” 

“That’s it?” Santino was incredulous. “For something like that you nearly get yourself killed?” 

“Doesn’t matter now. It didn’t work.” 

"Why didn't you want me to know?" 

"Marcus said you wouldn't like it. Knew the Tarasovs would make things hard for me as it is. Didn't want the distraction if Marcus turned out right." John looked at him uncertainly. “You’re angry.” He had the gall to sound confused.

“Glad to see that your grasp of the fucking obvious is still intact.” Santino got to his feet, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “I’m going home.”

“Okay.” John actually relaxed a little. “Safer for you there,” he said, when Santino frowned. 

“Good thing that you failed,” Santino said, as flatly as he could. “Means the alliance between your boss and my family is still intact. Without it, there’s no reason for me to tolerate your presence.” 

Outside, Santino was a little surprised to see Jimmy leaning by the door. “What are you doing here?” he asked, still angry enough to be curt. 

“Man. You’re a seriously messed up kid,” Jimmy said, resigned. 

“I’ve told you before, I’m not a kid. We’re in a hospital. Maybe you should get your brain checked.” 

“If you say so. Need a ride home?” 

Santino grit his teeth. He didn’t. If the retainers were here, it meant his escort would be ready to pick him up if he wanted it. Still. He swallowed the first words on his tongue. “Fine.” 

On the way home, Jimmy cleared his throat. “So.”

“Shut up.”

“You’re a real piece of work,” Jimmy said, with a deep sigh. “Someday it’s gonna bite you in the ass.”

#

“For fuck’s sake,” Santino said, straightening up from washing his hands in the university bathroom. Marcus shrugged, closing the door behind him and leaning against it, folding his arms.

“Your security is still shit, kid. Didn’t you guys learn anything from the kidnapping?”

“You have ten minutes until my next lecture.” Santino dried his hands and tried to sound indifferent. Ageing as Marcus was, he was still bound to the Tarasovs. Still dangerous. “Are you here because of John or because of the Tarasovs?” 

“Kinda both.” Marcus grimaced, looking around. “I fucking hate preppy places like this. Rich kids everywhere, paying money to learn shit all about life.”

“I didn’t figure you for a philosopher.” Marcus merely smirked, staring at him. “What?” Santino growled. 

“Takes all kinds, I guess.”

Santino made a show of checking his watch. “Nine minutes.” 

“Always thought John would meet someone who would seriously fuck him up one day. He’s the sort. Kinda imagined it to be some sweet pretty lady from outside the business who’d make him want to go the whole picket-fence-with-dogs-and-kids thing.”

“How parochial.”

“Paro-what? Nevermind. Thing is. I always figured he’d someday try to retire early. I didn’t think the Tarasovs would take that well. The reason why nobody dares to fuck with them anymore is because that’ll mean fucking with John. But they’re fair. They wouldn’t tell him no. They’d just make it hard for him.”

“John’s only qualified to trade one thing. What kind of ‘sweet pretty lady’ would be okay with him murdering people for her sake?” 

“Got a point there,” Marcus conceded. “Either way, didn’t matter. Since it wasn’t some outsider who messed him up. It was you.” 

Santino narrowed his eyes. Marcus didn’t look armed, but he probably was. If Santino reached for his phone… he’d seen how quickly fixers of Marcus’ caliber could draw and fire a gun. “Are you here because of John or the Tarasovs?” 

“Relax. I’m not going to hurt you. If anything, that’s clearly the best way to get John seriously ticked off. I told him, what’s the point of stupid gestures? The two of you already sealed the deal. Seem pretty happy too. Told him that he should just be content with what he could get. Brat like you ain’t gonna love anyone but yourself anyway.” 

Somehow, that stung. “So you’re just here to lecture me?” 

“Hell, I got a lot to get off my chest. Who do you think John talks to, when he feels like talking?” Marcus scratched at his jaw. “I’m just here because I had a feeling. John had two reasons for doing what he did, and what with all the drugs and the pain I bet he told you the wrong one.” 

“Oh?”

“He told you he wanted to quit ‘cos he loves you?” Marcus studied Santino keenly, and although Santino thought he stayed impassive, Marcus snorted. “Thought he would. I keep telling him, saying shit like that only works in the movies. Real people don’t work that way. Like you said, a normie would’ve been fucking freaked out if someone told them they paid a blood price to settle down and retire. As to you, you’re Camorristi. You’re gonna think that’s a stupid reason. Worse, you’d probably get pissed. ‘Cos John retiring is just gonna destabilise the alliance between your family and the Tarasovs.”

“Clearly you have a better grasp of logic than John. So why didn’t you stop him?”

“No stopping John when he’s got his mind set on something,” Marcus said sourly.

“So what’s the second reason? Is it more or less stupid?”

“Second reason kinda started from that last time you got kidnapped.”

“That? That was a _year_ ago.”

Marcus shrugged. “Yeah. And he’s been stewing over it for a year. Doesn’t help that you keep asking that cop over to play video games. Constant reminder that the shit he does isn’t the kind of shit without consequences. That’s why fixers are usually loners.” 

“So why now? After all this time?”

“Few days ago, this time a year back, you disappeared from this here uni,” Marcus said, with a gesture at the bathroom. “Guess that stuck in his mind.” When Santino frowned, Marcus chuckled. “You don’t even remember the date.” 

“Should I?” 

“‘Course not. You’re Camorristi. Bet you weren’t even scared when you got snatched.” Marcus turned to open the door. “Right. That’s all from me.”

“What even was the point of all that?” 

“Thought I might maybe help John unfuck things a little,” Marcus said, eyeing Santino with a sardonic smile. “But you’re exactly the kinda person I thought you’d be. So that was a waste of time for the both of us.”

#

John stayed in the hospital. Complications from surgery, apparently. Santino told himself he didn’t care. After an attempt at cooking nearly got the fire brigade called, a cook was employed, the wife of one of their retainers. She made superb pasta, but more importantly, her daughter—a blonde, mute girl with the improbable name of Ares—was excellent at Gears of War. She was younger than he was, probably still in high school. Jimmy had been mildly surprised to see them both on the couch when he dropped by, and Ares had straightened up when he’d answered her signed greeting with one of his own.

“You know sign language?” It had been weeks and Santino was still trying to learn the very basics. 

“Neighbor of mine was deaf. When I was growing up. He was a cool kid. Still is.” Jimmy settled on the couch as they unpaused the game. “John not back yet?”

“No. Tarasovs are paying for medical. How’s life? You've been busy. Heard about the Bronx.”

“Hell, that wasn’t much. Just some people getting drunk.” 

“You’re surprisingly good at appeasement.” On screen, their characters were dodging in between pools of light, trying to avoid swarms of vampiric bats. 

“Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me. It’s a character flaw.” Beside him, Ares smiled faintly as Jimmy sighed. “What are you doing here?”

“Heard John got discharged?”

Santino paused the game and frowned at him. “Who told you that?” 

“Hospital called me. So I thought I’d pop over to check in.” 

Santino’s phone had been quiet for an hour. “Well, either you’re mistaken or he hasn’t seen fit to inform me.” Somehow, that pissed him off a little. He hadn’t been by the hospital since the beginning, even after his initial temper had cooled off, but it wasn’t as though John had tried to call him or anything. So much for love, or whatever it was that John thought that he felt. 

“Okay. I’ll. Shut up.” 

“Good.” Santino turned back to the game. They got past the vampire bat area. With Ares at least they could play on a higher difficulty setting. While the score was tallying up, the door opened. John paused in the doorway, though his face was blank as he looked everyone over quietly. He walked stiffly, hampered by pain, taking a step towards the couch, coming up short when Santino glared at him. John turned, closing the door, and headed slowly upstairs without a word. 

“O-kay,” Jimmy said, after a long silence. “That was. Fucking terrifying.”

“He wasn’t going to hurt anyone,” Santino said, somehow annoyed on John’s behalf despite himself.

“You’re the only person I know who doesn’t find that guy terrifying, kid.” 

“The next time you call me a kid I’m going to get someone to hurt you,” Santino said, though the threat was always hollow. He played another mission, had dinner, and shooed everyone out. Then he sat on the couch for a while, watching tv without really watching. Near midnight, he shut the tv down, took in a slow breath, and went upstairs.

John had left his door ajar. Santino couldn't help it—he peeked. John was curled on the bed, his back to the door. He hadn’t bothered to change. Santino glanced down the corridor to his room, his hands tightening briefly into fists. Then he sighed and let himself into the room. His toothbrush was still in the ensuite bathroom anyway. He brushed his teeth, got cleaned up, and found John watching him as he got out of the bathroom. 

Love? There was nothing like love on John’s face. Just his usual quiet stillness. John was steel, not clay, and on cold steel tender affectations found no easy purchase. Santino sat on the side of the bed, picking up the photo frame on the side table. Like the others in the house, it was a photo of Santino. John’s favourite, maybe? It wasn’t one that John had taken. Gianna had probably sent it to him. It was Santino a few days after his eighteenth birthday, a year before he had met John. Santino, Gianna, and their cousins had gone riding on the beach by the Adriatic Sea, a coastal town in the distance behind them. One of their cousins—probably Claudia—had snapped the photo. Santino was grinning at the lens, straight-backed on a white stallion. 

“I think we need a hard limit on the number of photo frames in the house,” Santino said, setting the frame back where it was. “Apparently it creeps out our guests.”

“I like that one,” John said. His voice was hoarse. 

“Why aren’t there any photos of the both of us?”

“There are.” John paused for a while, breathing unevenly. “That other cop. He had an envelope of photos of us. That’s how he knew about you.”

Santino turned. John was lying on his back, his eyes closed. “You killed him,” Santino said, trying to be patient. “It’s been a year.”

“Yeah.” 

“Concerns over my safety is a stupid reason to quit. I was born into this world, John.”

“I know.” John sounded tired. “I just wanted to stop making enemies anyway. Just in case. Marcus warned me.” 

“About what?”

“That regardless of whether I succeeded I was just going to fuck things up. I guess I didn’t want to believe him.”

“Maybe next time you should just talk to me first.”

“What was I gonna say?” John turned his head, looking up. “Marcus said it was hopeless. That you’d never be able to give me what I want. Not that he knew what it was. Thing is. I don’t expect you to love me. Wasn’t about that.” 

“If it’s about believing you about…” Santino trailed off, with a sigh. “I don’t think you’re incapable of emotion, all right? Or sentiment. It was a shock when you told me, that’s all.” And, all right, it was gratifying to know. Santino would probably even be pleased, once he stopped being angry about everything. 

“Not really about whether you believe me or not either. Just. I’ve seen you with other people. Jimmy. Your staff. Your sister. You’re different around them. More relaxed. You’re never really relaxed around me.” 

“John…”

“And I get it. Everyone who knows me is like that around me. Even Marcus. I didn’t mind it before. But from you? It hurts.”

Santino hadn’t even noticed. He glanced back at the photo frame, nibbling on his lower lip. “You still could’ve talked to me.”

“Always a fifty-fifty chance of pissing you off. When we talk.”

“I’m not afraid of you.”

“I know.” John was staring at him, uncertain again. “But you’re wary. Instinctively. I thought if I left that part of me behind things could change. Didn’t know what else I could do.” 

“Free agent or not, you wouldn’t have been able to leave your past behind. I can’t unsee it.” Santino twisted his fingers together, studying his fingertips. He still didn’t understand John’s logic. Whatever happened, Santino would always have to live with security: if not because of John then because of his own name. And whatever happened, there was no forgetting John’s reputation. “I’m sorry,” he said, if with ill grace. “If I ever made you uncomfortable, I didn’t mean to.”

John blinked at him, bewildered by the apology. “Not your fault.”

Santino gave in. Cruelty was in his nature, as it was in his sister’s, in their father's, but it was something that he had been taught to temper ruthlessly with fairness. He climbed under the sheets. John stared for a moment, then he pulled Santino close, wincing. Santino froze. “Your wounds.”

“Don’t care.” John’s voice was raw, his kiss shaky over Santino’s forehead. He buried his mouth in Santino’s hair, breathing deeply. 

“I’m still mad,” Santino said, in case John thought he was off the hook. John said nothing, his breathing starting to slow.

#

“Does everyone know sign language?” Santino complained, when John greeted Ares by gesturing, then he flushed a little in embarrassment when Ares raised her eyebrows. “Sorry.”

Ares smiled lazily, and made a dismissive gesture. -It’s okay.- 

“Picked it up here and there,” John said vaguely. 

Santino could believe that. John was nearly as preternaturally good with languages as he was with guns. He’d even started to pick up Neapolitan, and Santino only ever spoke it on the phone with his family. Ares looked at John curiously as she sat beside Santino at the couch, and her mother Sofia smiled nervously as she greeted them and started over to the kitchen, arms full of groceries. She flinched as John got to his feet to help her, and John sat back down, pretending that he hadn’t noticed. Now that Santino had been made aware of it, it _was_ painfully obvious. But who could blame anyone for their fear? This was the _Baba Yaga_.

They started the game where they left it. John didn’t ask questions, his arm curled around Santino’s waist. It was a little hard to concentrate on the game. Santino kept wondering if he’d ever flinched away from John, even subtly. After the first few weeks. After the first year. Something had driven John to the brink. Not just one incident, maybe, or not just one reason. A host of small cuts, bleeding away logic and reason. A hundred little hurts. Still. 

Actions had consequences. Years ago John had made the choice to kill people for profit and had become very good at it. Choices had their price. Even success had a price. The monsters of the world could not truly shed their skins or their names. Even if John had succeeded he could not walk away from what he was. Or what he had done to get there. 

John was quiet through dinner unless spoken to, avoiding everyone’s eyes but Santino’s. If he was trying to be unobtrusive it was having the opposite effect. Sofia and Ares left early, though Ares looked apologetic. Santino waved John to the couch. “We’ll start from the first mission,” he decided. “Since you haven’t played the game.”

“I watched you and Jimmy play.”

“Not all of it. And you probably could use a tutorial.” 

“I like this game more,” John said, as the cinematic played. 

“Reminds you of the Marines?”

“Kinda. Even though. Not remotely the same. Had a gunny sergeant like the guy with the bandana though.”

“Do you ever miss being in the Marines?” 

John glanced at Santino, surprised. Belatedly, Santino realized he’d never asked John about his past. He’d never been particularly interested in who John had been. The whole point had always been in addressing who John now was. “Nah,” John said finally. “Though it was less complicated.”

“Any exciting missions? Acts of heroism?” Santino asked, facetious. 

“Nah.” John watched the screen. “I killed people. Nothing heroic about that. Nothing good.”

“If you really do want to quit…” Santino trailed off, thinking. His father probably wouldn’t be willing to trade for something like this. Not without gaining the use of John in turn. 

“It’s okay,” John said quietly. “If anything the last few weeks taught me to be happy with what I’ve got. I can’t undo what I’ve done. And I don’t regret it. If I stayed in the Marines, or if I did something else with my life… I’d never have met you. Not like this.” 

Santino paused the game, and John glanced at him, straightening up when Santino climbed carefully onto his lap, dropping John’s controller on the couch. John made an inarticulate sound as Santino kissed him, slowly, the first lover’s kiss in weeks. Santino ground closer, chuckling as he felt John getting hard, the curve of his cock pressing eagerly against Santino’s ass. They pulled at belts and zippers, John’s gasps against his throat agonised with lust and pain. He groaned as Santino spat on his palm and reached between them. It wasn’t nearly enough slick, his fingers stretched around their cocks as they thrust against each other, flesh catching against flesh, against John’s shirt. 

John made a breathless, grateful sound against Santino’s throat, wet and torn, shuddering as Santino clutched at his shoulders and bit him high on the throat. “Want to get my mouth on you,” John said, panting. “Turn around.” 

“You don’t get to do what you want,” Santino said, and bit him again, working in his teeth. John whined, shoving up against the tight ring of Santino’s fingers, already desperate to come. Santino laughed. He kissed John, slow and lingering, then he pressed his thumb against the slit of John’s cock and grinned as John gasped and jerked, fluid soiling Santino’s fingers, John’s shirt. John sank back, breathing hard. He tried to reach for Santino’s cock but set his hands on Santino’s hips instead when Santino batted his wrist away. He wiped his hand deliberately on John’s shirt, over his chest, pushing his hips against the slick mess, against soft flesh. Oversensitive, it probably hurt, but John didn’t complain, mouthing kisses over Santino’s throat. 

“Tell me again,” Santino said, against John’s ear, then, “no, show me.” 

John froze for a moment, then the kisses slowed down. He stroked Santino’s thighs with unsteady fingers. This wasn’t love, Santino wanted to scoff. Caresses and soft kisses and gentleness, none of this was part of their nature. It would just be play-acting. He wasn’t interested in love as it could be. He wanted to see it for what it was. Maybe John sensed it. He kissed Santino on the mouth, hard enough to bruise; hauled him flush, even though it had to hurt. He breathed in hoarse gasps in between kisses, as though frustrated with the need to breathe. His lips were hot on Santino, his hands clenching over Santino’s waist, as though John was never going to let go. Santino sucked in a sharp breath as his hips twitched, adding to the mess. John’s grip eased, reluctantly.

Santino was leaning over to kiss John when the door opened. He got a brief glimpse of Jimmy’s horrified face before Jimmy hastily shut the door. “Holy shit, guys. Seriously.”

“Fucking _knock_ ,” Santino shot back. 

“I did! No one answered! Door's not locked!” 

“Something come up?” 

“No. Was in the neighborhood, just thought I’d check in.”

“Well, you have,” Santino said. “So fuck off.” 

“Right. Uhh. Sorry. Sorry.” 

Santino waited until Jimmy’s footsteps faded, retreating to his car further down the driveway. Then he started to laugh. John sighed. “I hate that guy.”

“No you don’t. He’s harmless.”

“So?”

“Don’t kill him. I might need him for Halo.”

“Didn’t say I was gonna.” John nuzzled Santino’s throat, always so calm when sated. Santino kissed him on the cheek. John’s breathing slowed down. For a moment—for now—this was probably enough. The future didn’t matter yet.

**Author's Note:**

> Hopefully everyone's week (and the world) gets better... -_- man. what a crazy week.  
> \--  
> Nobody else found the tiny shrines to Helen mildly creepy? ^^;; Also yes, it only occurred to me a few days ago that chronologically, gay marriage wasn't yet legal in the USA as at the time these fics are set.  
> \--  
> twitter: manic_intent  
> tumblr: manic-intent.tumblr.com


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